This year I finally came to finish the Malerweg hiking route, located in Eastern Germany. One of the best trails and getaways within the region. Behind every peak and overhang is a valley steeped in wonder and history. The eight-day hike, totaling 112km cushions the Elbe River alongside the Czech border. It’s a journey that takes you through separate microcosms, as the route peels atop gaping basins, through sprawling fields and down pathways carved through sheer slabs of rock.

The Malerweg is dominated by its rugged sandstone landscapes. Hills, cliff-faces and ridgeways hack through backdrops of woodlands filled with old, industrial era relics. Sawmills, guesthouses and baroque fortresses. Facades that change texture with every different pathway, intercrossing the Elbe, through pristine, picturesque villages. The route took its name from its previous use by European artists during the Romantic era, who would come to depict the myriad of colours of sites onto canvas. Johann Carl August Richter, Johann Alexander Thiele, and Caspar David Friedrich all wonder wander down to the region, paintbrush in hand.

The route is easily accessible once you get to Dresden. With the S-Bahn you can travel to any of the start points, within reason. Starting at Pirna-Liebethal, the route wanders through the woodlands, past quaint bars, and through cave passages until Stadt Wehlen. The second stage of the route is the easily the most recommended. Cutting across the river’s ridge, through pine woodlands, and descending down metal-cast stairs into unworldly, folds into the ground –once used as hideouts during the war- the path finally crosses the Bastei, the most recognizable landmark in the region. Through a stairway next to an epic, theatre built into the rocks- which acoustics and surrounding clifffaces – of grandiose enormity – to a turquoise boating lagoon. In the other direction lies the riverside town of Rathen, where its recommended to make a short descent and stop-off at Forellenräucherei Leuschke for a fish sandwich.

Back on the route and you eventually come to the Amsellfall, a small little waterfall where you can grab a beer before climbing into the village of Rathewalde. From here, there’s a short march through some fields before descending into a rock-face, cut through with a steel-ladder, before making the final 140m ascent to Hohnstein, a fairy-tail like village, with a 12th century Bohemian fortress, cobblestoned roads and rustic, roadside restaurants.

Stage Three, is a day for heights. The woodlands absorb and smother you in green. Along the way, you can peer through clouds and into ravines, before getting to the official ‘Saxon Schweiss Balcony’, peering out 170 metres above the sprawling countryside, of golden and green. That is if it isn’t cloudy, in which case you will only stare into the abyss of nothingness. Next to the augenblick is an old-fashioned bar called the Brande-Baude. Here you should grab a soup and a beer to prepare you for the stairwell to the valley’s bottom, consisting of over 800 steps. Through deep woodlands, and streams you follow into Kohlmühle, an old, almost deserted industry town, with the long lost feeling of something out of Twin Peaks, with its deserted mill, train tracks and eerie quiet.

Stage Four is a passage through time, into the Kirnitzschtal valley until the Lichtenhain Waterfall. Along the way there are disused mills, and storage buildings from a previous industry era. The path diverts and takes you up to the Schrammsteine, a series of sandstone pillars 400 metres above the wilderness, looking out across the entire district. Stage Five takes you into the heart of the Nationalpark, far away from civilization. Disused factories, and former castles litter the roadside, before you climb to the highest point on the trek, the 550 metre high Gross Winterberg. Passing over great giant sandstones, looking across the landscape you come across a giant Basal Rock formation on the Czech border. Cruising through the clouds, and the perpetual golden-leaf covered floor, you eventually come back to the Elbe, and the village of Schmilka, with its stream-side mills, coloured houses and - the first organic brewery in Saxon Schweiss. Stopping here without grabbing a beer and some cake would be a crime.

Stages six to eight I only recently finished. Catching the trail in a period of good weather, we took the train to Schmilka, hiking upwards and onwards through open fields, and remote villages. In spring the countryside brings out the best in wild flowers, and blossoming trees. Along the way we spy children hunting for eggs in the garden, as Easter looms around the corner. The Southern side of the river offers a different atmosphere. Trees are replaced by fields. The Sandstone ridges jut out of the landscape, like spots on a serene backdrop. The landscape opens up to you with every corner. Along the way you join the Caspar-David-Friedrich, a route in which several landscapes are merged into one for his famous painting, Wanderer Above the Sea of Fog; an image that captures the Zirkelstein, and Kaiserkrone – all visible along the way. Before Gorsich we decide to cut off to stay in Königstein, where there are more boarding and restaurant options.

Cutting back onto the Malerweg the next day, you ascend the steepest incline there is, up the 430 metre, Sandstone high Pfaffenstein. With it’s narrow, steel staircase, sliced into the rockface, like a knife not-through-butter, it’s a winding, and narrow ascent. From the top there are 360-degree views as far as the eye can see. Here there’s a restaurant, look-out tower, and the famous Barbarine, a ragged, free-standing rock pinnacle that has become the symbol for Saxon Schweiss. The route descends back down into Königstein, following a stream and past 200-year old mills, and thatched roof cottages – one of the most beautiful sites along the whole route. The route then swings back up atop the valley and past the 400-year old Königstein Fort – an impenetrable castle used as hide-aways, and prisons for various empires across time. Finishing in Weißig, we went to stay in an old farmhouse, next to the river, and by the tracks. Sleeping in the open countryside, with the sunrays creeping in to wake you the next day is a sublime feeling, and our host even brought freshly laid eggs for breakfast.

The last day to Pirna creeps along the river, ascending up more Sandstone plateaus and past former quarries on the way to Pirna. A lot of the final route takes you along roads, until you finally reach the Sonnenstein Fortress, a rather somber end point to the Malerweg – a former 15th century castle turned euthanasia centre by the Nazis. Following on, you can descend into the regional capital, with an old square dating back hundreds of years. There is no sign to acknowledge your accomplishment, no parade or fanfare on your arrival. Hopefully the sun shines upon your journey’s end, and the bars are open to commemorate your achievement.

When to go:MarchIt’s best to avoid this route during the summer due to the amount of people traffic. As the seasons start to turn at the start of the year you can catch the mist dragging across the peaks, and see the environment gradually come to life.

Although I’ve never stayed here, I met some hikers who did. Stay in this historic fortress, turned hostel for just EUR 25,-. To be fair, there aren’t many places to stay in Hohnstein, but this places looks like the real deal.

At the end of day four, this former industrial mill sits alongside the flowing stream deep in the valley. Home cooked food, a cinema during the summer months, and a local meeting point for those hikers for EUR 25,- a night.

Located just on the edge of Königstein, the little hostel can be used as a stop-off point for several treks, but is closer to day six’s finishing point. In between the Elbe, and a large sheer face of rock, the hostel is a great stop-off for hikers, with a games room and breakfast included.

Past the finising point of the day seven, through Weissig, down to the river you follow a tiny road lined with old farmhouses and cottages. At Drei-Lindenhof you can stay in a former barn, converted into a hostel, with added kitchen room, and extra amenities. Waking up in the countryside, next to the river is devine, and the beds are only EUR 10,- each.

Peru is one of the places where you feel welcome wherever you are. Sticking to the ‘Gringo Trail’, I went from Lima down the coast through Isco to Arequipa, Puno and up to Cusco to hake through the Ancient Valley. In the space of a few days you can go through deserts, mountains, and mountainous woodlands with yet more still to see. Here are some photos from my journey there back in 2014.

The Ciudad Perdida in Colombia is one of the oldest archeological finds in Latin America, and is even older than Machu Pichu. It translates as ‘Lost City’, as it located in the Tropical Jungle, just off the Caribbean coast. Getting there and back is a 4-day extensive hike, in terrain once occupied by internal warring factions. Nowadays, its become a popular visit for those looking to camp out under the stars, climb ancient stairways, and trapse through rivers.

While researching a story for a larger article about hiking and drinking for Thrillist, I journeyed down to northern Bavaria to explore the region’s countryside and hidden brewing getaways.

Bamberg – ‘the city of beer’ - sits on the border of Northern Bavaria in the Upper Franconia region. Its old city is a Unesco World Heritage Site, but the thing that defines this region of Germany is the particular brand of smoked-beer that are made amidst the many micro-breweries littered around the countryside. The best way to make the most of this – and to see as much of the landscape as possible, is to embark on the Thirteen Brewery Hike. A 32km trek through amazing countryside and villages, taking in a whole set of amazing pubs.

Although it starts in Memmelsdorf, I stayed in Geisfeld – a town just outside of Bamberg. Put up at Pension Luisenhof (highly recommended), the owner drove me to the starting point at the Brauerei Drei Kronen. The starting brewery offers up an excellent tour of their brewing history, detailing what makes the smokey beer so special.

From here curl your way around to the Brauerei Wagner where you can grab lunch - Schweinshaxe, aka. roasted pork knuckle. As you weave your way between one brewery to the next you can grab yourself a small taster of each pub’s different take on the smoked beer tradition. After a few beers though, you might find yourself traipsing off a little. The rauchbier is pungent, like a smoked herring, while being rich and poignant. And heavy. Not all 13 breweries are open as well, so don’t fret about hiking on a full stomach.

It’s an ambitious route to do in one day, but doable. Alas I failed to make it to the last pub due to the sun-setting. I finished up at the family run, open-bar Griess Kellerafter hiking and drinking for seven hours. It’s a great way to get to know beer, without being stuck in one place at one time. The locals here are also very passionate, which makes for a great learning experience.

Biking the 650k cycle-route from Berlin to Copenhagen takes you through Germany’s formative, yet cruel and brutal history. A landscape and people that have felt the brunt of successive regimes. Crossing the Baltic to Denmark, you arrive in a country distinct in its separation from time with its thatched-roof farm houses and 16th century baroque churches. In contrast, the Germany that sits on the other side of the sea is a land scarred by time, reshaped by early industrial practices and littered with ugly relics from periods of war and oppression. The bike route is not just a journey involving feat and dedication; it is one that also requires humility as you come to better understand the world around you.

The EuroVelo is a series of bike routes that run throughout the continent, connecting cities from as far as Ireland to Russia. Setup back in 1995, the EU funded route now operates 15 biking highways that connect Athens, Copenhagen, London and Berlin, Consisting of over 45,000 km of bike track. The EuroVelo7 is also know as the Sunshine Route, running from the tip of Norway in the Arctic, all the way to Malta in the Mediterranean. The fragment of which that runs between Berlin and Copenhagen is one of the most subscribed routes of the EuroVelo, with an average 7,000 cyclists making their way one every year. It’s a roundabout 700km trip between the two capitals, on mostly purpose-built cycle paths that take you through forest, fields and small villages.

Having lived in Berlin for 10 years, I had often seen the signposts for the EuroVelo7 when exploring the city. I wondered what it would be like to one day just carrying on to see where it would take me. That dream of just not-stopping. Earlier this year, after work had dried up I saw that I had a window to make this trip happen, and so I did it. I packed two panniers, one with a tent, the other a sleeping bag and some clothes, bought a map and set off. It’s advised you take 15 days to do this in order to take everything in. I wasn’t so interested in seeing all that Northern Germany had to offer. I was more interested on pushing my limits, to see how fast I could take this on, while also acknowledging I had work deadlines to come back to, so I set myself a target of five days.

The HavelIt seems fitting somehow that the route from Berlin to Copenhagen starts at Brandberger Gate, the city’s most iconic landmark. Over the years it has functioned as the start and end points for many. Napoleon marched through these gates on his way to Russia. The Soviets marched through bringing the end to the Second World War. Today it symbolizes the divide that separated the city once during the Cold War. Should you follow the road straight on through the Gate, you would arrive at Brandenburg an der Havel, an old industrial hub a few kilometres beyond Potsdam from where it takes its name.

Nowadays the central area surrounding Brandberger Gate has become besieged by tourists, taxis and trinket salesfolk. Due to the congestion and poor sign-posting I struggled to find the allotted markers, and ended-up following the route through and alongside the famous governmental buildings, cycling waywardly towards the district of Moabit. Getting lost was going to sum up my first day.

Mis-queuing and cycling off into the unknown already felt like being somewhere new. The Berlin district of Moabit is a cosmopolitan hubris with leafy roads and a multi-cultural population. It reminded me of London with Indian restaurants, busy streets and African hair-salons. But the more I sailed on through, the more I knew I was getting further from where I wanted to be. I tailored a right taking me off Alt-Moabit and over the Westhafenkanal. Coming back to the official route, I went over the Berlin-Spandau Schifffahrtskanal, a 150 year old passage that connected The Haval with the old industrial sectors in Wedding and Mitte. It must be at least 30 metres in width with perpendicular banks so straight, they could only have been made my man. It’s so easy to imagine that at one point it, cargo ships were trawling up and down this body of water on a weekly basis, bringing in raw materials to the city, taking out whatever it was that was being fashioned at the time.

I wondered what it would be like to one day just carrying on to see where it would take me. That dream of just not-stopping. 

The EuroVelo route to Copenhagen follows the Haval for a large portion of the way. The river serves as Berlin’s gateway to the world. Through a huge system of interconnected tributaries and canals, The Haval allowed passage of goods to either the North or Baltic seas, by running off into either the Elbe or Oder Rivers respectively. A moment in time, when transporting on canals were essential to the order of things. Today, the Havel – and Schifffahrtskanal, serve more a recreational use. Lines of anglers perch against the water’s edge. A set of unused water polo goalposts indicate how clean the water has become, and the type of people that now use the waterway.

Lining the Schifffahrtskanal, creating the buffer between the water and the airport, is an area of classically styled East German ferienwohnungs– small, shed-like homes. A lot of Berliners use these as retreats, as places where they can grow plants in a garden and escape the inner city, apartment lives. These Schifffahrtskanal ferienwohnungs were very much more decadent than the ones you find closer to the inner city. Here you had little houses designed to look like alpine ski lodges, with refitted roofs and gardens so prim, it were as if they were competing for an award.

GrenzturmNieder Neuendorf

The MauerwegEven though it was already May, the weather was still refusing to acknowledge that summer was around the corner. Wearing just normal skater-shorts, and my Colombian-football tricot with a thermal underlayer, the cold for all its might, was not getting through to me. The dew pressed against my skin as I cycled forward. At the beginning, you know there is far to go. There’s no predicting how your body will fare, and how the strains will feel but already my mind was feeling open and balanced. Across the edge of the canal and heading towards Spandau, I was feeling meditative, balanced and strong.

And so when encountering some of the more brutal reminders of the harsh world we live in, it caused pain and sadness. In our daily lives, our eyes fail to see some of the things that scare us, but on the road, nothing can be ignored. Coming into Spandau, I pass my first camp. The first of many that litter this particular road through Germany. Although unlike the others, this serves a humanitarian cause – a refugee camp, built loosely around old shipping containers in a disused school playground. The camp stands out from its surroundings – plush maisonettes, with quaint gardens. Middle eastern men stand outside talking, smoking. There have been many reports of cramped conditioning and rioting over the past year in this camp, but with time, you can only hope these refugees find a better life.

This reminder of the modern day war taking place further afield detracts from the other vestiges of Geramy’s long forgotten past. Spandau itself housed many leading Nazi figures after the war, awaiting trial at Nuremberg. Moving on from Spandau and the EuroVelo route eventually unfolds onto the Mauerweg – a stretch of land where the giant wall separated West Berlin from the rest of the DDR. The old divide follows the Havel north, the water once acting as a natural barrier to separate the East and West. Just outside of Spandau there’s an old an old watch tower that used to patrol the old border – GrenzturmNieder Neuendorf. Crowning over the river, the former patrol hut is now a tourist centre and is one of the last of its kind remaining. An old man looks after it all time. He’s very hospitable and as I look around he offers to watch my bike. You know when you’ve left Berlin; the local people are more friendly. It’s difficult to really articulate the general boorishness of Berliners to those who’ve never experienced it.

Through Henningsdorf and a different side of life starts to become visible. This is where some of the wealthier folk have settled down. River-side cottages, with long gardens, well-kept green grass and picket fences. The water is lined with private boats, and mini- yachts. Off the water and into the woods, and the air from the pine trees lines your lungs. It’s like entering a new microcosm, where the atmosphere and ambience is dictated by the trees. Through the small town, and down back onto the Havel and there’s an old timber mill. Lines of felled-trees await their fate and in the silence a rare, green woodpecker is making the most of the situation. If you keep your eye on the road you’ll see the road-signs that indicate you've crossed the old border – ‘Here Germany and Europe was reconnected at January 13th 1990, at 9.45’.

Oranienburg Through some small, non-descript villages of Brandenberg, and the route creeps up on Oranienburg. The outskirts of this industrial town, are bleak. Old apartment blocks, that look as though they are made out of corrugated plastic line the road into town. Warehouses, and factories next to people who look as equally displeased with their current meaning. It all reminds of the area of the UK where I grew up; the Midlands. A part of the country where old factories struggle to remain revelant. Into town I pass a football pitch where the grass is overgrown. Kids sit along the Oder-Havel Canal listening to music through their speakers. Oranienburg Palace sits in the centre of the town. It’s baroque façade and pristine gardens disgusie the town’s pains.

Oranienburg really got the short end of the stick for an extremely long time. It’s home to Sachsenhausen - one of the largest concentration camps in the region, where over 30,000 people died. The Russians came in and decided to use the location for a similar function, of which another 12,000 died in the space of five years. Oranienburg served as a vital industrial location for both the Nazis and the DDR, who had nuclear research facilities in the region, in addition to various brickwork factories, where the concentration camp prisoners were forced to work. When the Russians came in, they built upon what the Nazis had started, turning the area into an industrial hub. The area itself is also home to around 300 pieces of unexploded ordnance, a special type of bomb the allies used that had delayed explosive charges – that are still being discovered today.

The EuroVelo takes you through the town and back along the canal. Somehow I get lost and struggle to find Lehnitzsee. It’s a while before I can find the route again on the Oder-Haval Canal. Further outside the city, I cross the canal in a misty-dew and take the wooded bike route through Zehdenick, where more relics of the area's industrial past litter the surroundings. These small, satellite towns appear vastly empty. Ghost towns with memories of the past. Night begins to fall on and I push on to make it to the camp site. I leave the Havel which flows off to the east, and cycle alongside Wentowsee to Fischerwall when I pitch camp. It’s EUR 10,- for the night, and I am but one of three campers next to the lake. Having left Berlin at 9.30 in the morning, it’s 7 in the evening when I finally rest. I’ve done 110km in one day. There are no resaurants in the area, and no shops in site, so I have to do with the camping store – my dinner consists of a packet of jaffa biscuits and a beer. Not really a feast of champions, but for now it will do as Wentowsee becomes my home for the night.

After cycling over 110 kilometers the previous day from Berlin, I found myself camped outside a small village near Wentowsee. Having spent the previous evening eating biscuits and reading Salman Rushdie, it was time to move on and make my way to Copenhagen.

Up early and out to get some good time in the morning, I find that I really need breakfast. Alongside the road is a grotty, café. I grab a wurst and a black coffee, which somehow taste amazing. The road pushes through a set of small quaint villages. Locals leave jars of jam and for sale alongside the road. The Havel winds its way back onto the route and it feels good for it to have found there again. The EuroVelo goes back into woods. I’m on my own and it's still morning. The trees are quiet, and a sullen silence is awash across the outcrop of green mass. On the way to Ravensbrück I go over a bump in the path. A set of disused train lines. The small, single tracks seemingly disappearing into the woods. A few more feet down the road, a tower overlooks the landscape. A concentration camp lies hidden among the trees.

The Ravensbrück concentration camp was unqiue, in that in kept only women. In total over 50,000 were killed here. Many polish, Jewish and suspected communists were processed. Women who were spotted drinking, or out on their own, or acting ‘funny’ were suspected of being communist and sent here. Out in the woods, with no signs and nothing brining it to attention, it’s as if this part of history is trying to be forgotten.

I follow through into Fürstenberg, a small town with cobbled roads and monuments to the Russians. The roads play havoc with my panniers, and one of them snaps off due to duress. I spend half an hour tying the pannier to the other for support. The bike is uneven know and the one pannier is contantly kicking my leg, but there is nothing I can do. Fürstenberg seems to have been forgotten, just like Ravensbrück. The buildings are old, bleak and brown, crumbling like the roads that need repaving.

The Land of 1,000 LakesLeaving Fürstenberg and the EuroVelo begins to enter the region known as the Mecklenburg Lake Plateau – or Land der Tausend Seen. It is the largest area of connected lakes and canals in Germany. It’s a beautiful retreat, one I’ve been to before. It brings up memories of staying here once with someone very special. We’d stayed in a woodland retreat, spending the days rowing in the lakes, drinking wine and playing games. The surroundings had become tinged with sadness and regret. As I crossed the bridge where we had once had lunch, I wonder if I would ever come back to this place. Wondering if I should have come back at all.

Cycling into Wesenberg and the route brings you in alongside the lakeside beach, where people are drinking beers, playing frisbee and the such. 7,000 people yearly traverse the EuroVelo between Berlin and Copenhagen, right by this very point. I was coming through, tired, sweaty and my panniers hanging off the back of my bike, there were some uncomfortable looks from the locals. Just outside the town I saw a stork wandering through the grass. It’s that time of year when the birds come back to rear their young. With it’s big legs, pondering on the floor, the large, ungangly bird had a air of nonchelance about it. Littered across rooftops along the road, stork nests sat precariously, as the giant birds make their home for the summer.

Through woodlands and parks I found time for lunch at Neustrelitz, to only annoyingly find that I have to turn back on myself. The diversion to this isolation, hillside town serves no purpose, only to waste 10 kilometres worth of time for me. It’s not recommended making this part of the journey. I make my way back with pace, in order to make up time. Stopping off in Uservin I pause to treat myself to a bar of chocalate and a bottle of schnapps. As much as I would have liked to eaten well on this trip, the options in Mecklenberg are limited. And when you have trouble carrying on, the schnapps helps you push through that mental barrier.

The route through Mecklenburg is extremely beautiful. Surrounded by fields of long tall grass, and birch trees. The bike lane journeys into the countryside away from traffic and towns. The birds here become your journey-friends. The brown-fronted woodpecker is one of the most commonly spotted, alongside the falcon and the thrush (or the typewriter-bird as I like to call him – those who’ve heard his irratic call will understand.) And then I saw the greatest bird of them all; a white tailed eagle. I would never have exptected to have seen such a giant bird, but there it was. Facing away from me, as I came closer this beast of bird took flight. Its wingspan, surely matching the length of my body.

Through villages and farms. Sunkissed and so unlike the world of Berlin. I finally push on through to Waren, which sits on lake Müritz, the second largest body of water in Germany. With the sun-setting I made my way to the campsite. For fifteen euros, I got to pitch up with electricity, wi-fi and water. This was a campsite for the modern generation. Filled with RVs, it seemed like some of the people here had been here the whole year. Who knows, maybe longer. I guess some of the campers rent spaces permanently and come and go when they please. It's next generation camping. The bathrooms came with hot showers, all providing the perfect respite I needed. It had been a 130km day, sitting on lake Müritz watchching the sun set is a wonderful thing.

Camping at Müritz I was now a third of my way to Copenhagen. Having cycled through Brandenburg I was feeling confident about the 400+ kiliometres still to go, and fully refreshed after a night at one of the best campsites I have ever visited.

I've been to Müritz before. During that period when we had first met, I proposed the idea of going away. A colleague recommended this old, converted water tower in Waren where we came one weekend. It rained the entire time. We drank wine and played games. I left behind some happier memories here, but digging them up again was hard. It’s better to leave them where they are, so that they carry on being.

I stop in the town to get an omlette and chat with the waitress about my journey, who seems mightly impressed. The town is full of old people. Germans on holiday. All kitted up in all weather gear, moving slowly up and down the streets. After a while they all look the same. I gear up and move on out. Beyond Jabel the bike route becomes a forest dirt track. It divides the trees, with pines on one side and beech the other. I spot two more eagles. This is one of the most blissful parts of the EuroVelo. Nothing within earshot apart the sound of the woods, and the trees and the birds talking in unison. Past Krakow am See and I arrive at Alt Sammit, where an old mansion sits unloved and empty. It’s a Saturday and I’ve seen no-one in hours. It feels strange – but this is the feeling I came to associate with the Northern German state. One of isolation.

Further on and I arrive at Güstrow, one of the district's biggest towns. Cycling in and the first thing you see is the palace. A towering, 500 year-old Baroque masterpiece. It’s easily one of the best things I’ve seen, surrounded by a couple of acres of well-kept palatial gardens, filled with lavendar. The town centre is well-preserved with cobbled roads. But on a Saturday afternoon, everything was closed. Shops. Restaurants. Everything. An ice-cream parlour was open, and a pizza shop, but apart from the that everything was silent. You could hear the crows arguing in the trees. I was forced to get my lunch in a Subway, one of the few things open. Leaving the city you follow the Güstrow-Bützow Canal. Dotted along its side are beautiful old cottages and industrial relics.

SchwaanOn my third day I had intend to make it all the way to Rostock, but by the time I had made it to Schwaan it was already 6pm. I wasn’t sure I would make it in time, and with limited camping options at the port town, I didn’t want to risk it. It was the night of the Champions League final and I really wanted to make sure I had set up tent and had some food in time for the game. Cycling into Schwaan and the same feeling crept over me again. There was no-one here. An ice-cream bar was open, with some bikers sitting outside enjoying the sun. No bars were open. No restaurants. I enquired at the local supermarket if there was somewhere I could watch the match, and I was met with general confusion. If I wanted to see it, then I would have to go to Rostock they said.

The campsite at Schwaan (it means swan), sits just outside the city centre on the river. Checking in, I find it’s a family run retreat. The woman behind the counter, also runs the shop. I ask her about the football and she says she’ll put it on in the function room for me. She even goes out of her way to get me some locally brewed beers, for which I am extremely grateful. I watch the game with just one other guy from the campsite which sadly was a bore and largely forgettable.

Day FourRostockI had wanted to start the fourth day in Denmark, but that wasn’t going to happen. It takes an hour or so to Rostock, and then another hour to traverse the city and get to the dockside. Rostock reminds me of Poland. It’s beat up, with a very east-European architectural aesthetic. Its image has also be damaged due to its relationship with racism, something it hasn’t been able to shrug off since locals set fire to a refugee centre back in 1992. There’s a sadness here. It feels like the world has left this place behind. In the old, industrial port, and you can definitely feel that business that was once here, and has since packed up and moved on.

The EuroVelo route runs straight through the port. The trucks and cargo move around youm My modest, little bike line plots its way inbetween the industrial movement going on all around. Locking the bike up next to the ferry terminal, I buy myself a ticket to Gedser in Denmark – which with the bike, costs no more than EUR 15,-. The ferry leaves every two hours and so as I wait for the next one I have my best meal in days; fish and chips. The woman manning the terminal café is fierce, shouting at everyone who doesn’t return the dishes back to their rightful place. In the main hallway, there are signs written in multiple languages for refugees looking to go to Sweden. The route for refugees took them through the port, on a boat to Copenhagen and then across the bridge in buses to Malmo. Sweden however put a stop to this back in November, so some of the signs – in Arabic, English and German- have lines crossed through them. The last sentence reads, ‘Do Not Make this Journey – Sweden Will Not Accept You.’ It makes you think, where else someone would go, having got this far.

Boarding the ferry is s surreal experience. On the bike you queue up next to cars, and motorbikes. You pretend that you are one of them. I’m joined by two other cyclists who are also doing the EuroVelo, albeit a bit slower. We cycle onto the ferry and lock up next to the cars. Ferries are always very similar, like an 80s holiday resort with an assorted mix of people. The sea is cold, and windy and there are some Danish kids on the boat who’ve managed to get hold of some beer from the shop. The North Sea sends me to sleep, and just under two hours later we arrive in Denmark.

I’m the first off the boat in Gedser, and something hits me which I hadn’t expected. The wind. And it’s strong, seemingly unpresent on the first part of my journey. The trip through Denmark will take me across several islands that form part of the Zealand region. Everything here is smaller. Quaint, village houses sit on narrow roads. Nordic churchs sit in bewtween remote outcrops of shops and cottages. There doesn’t appear to be anyone here, as the wind howls in down the streets. The route follows the coast up north to Nykøbing, the island’s biggest town. Littered across the fields are what seems like hundreds of wind turbines, making the most of the country’s most abundant resource. Hundred year old farm houses dot the countryside, with thatched roves and old wooden outhouses. The horses here all have hair that cover their eyes (probably against the wind). The flat open expanse of Denmark, together with the lack of trees means you can see for miles and spot every single little Danish flag in the distance. It also means the wind is even more prevelant, making this part of the journey more strenuous.

The EuroVelo route (now just referred to as Nationalroute 9) takes you to the East-side of the island, where the prevailing wide bullies you, as it comes in directly from the sea. The cycle route becomes narrower. It's painful and frustrating. I already feel broken. Rounding the island I make it to Stubbekøbing, an old industrial port town connected by ferry to the next island, Bogø. You’re greeted by giant, unused mills as your enter. The wind and rain lashing down, with only a few teenagers gathering in the streets. It’s already 8pm when I arrive and I’ve done 150km today (if you include the boat ride). I pitch up at the campsite – you have to become a member of the Danish camping society to stay here – which costs an additional EUR 20,-. Setting up camp, I get myself a stout and salad from the Netto (open all hours to nobody at all), and watch the sunset on this rainy, isolated little island.

My first night in Denmark, this idyllic, quiet, expensive wet country shows how far I’ve come. The wind has challenged me, and I know I’m going to have make some shortcuts if I want to make it to Copenhagen by tonight.

MønIt’s almost June and it’s cold. You have to pity these Danes. The sky is blue, and there’s a crisp bite to the air. There’s nowhere open for breakfast, so it’s back to Netto before getting the ‘IDA’, the passenger ferry to Bogø. It’s a 10-minute trip, and there’s only one other passenger. Danish flags are everywhere; four on the boat and two each at both docks. Patriotism runs high here, and the red and white colours are omnipresent throughout the journey.

Bogø leads over to Møn and with the wind in my face, making an easterly ride is near impossible, so I decide it’s time to change tactic. I opt to move to Store Damme in the island’s centre and cycle directly north, trying to keep some distance from the sea’s headwinds. Møn’s history can be traced back to the Stone Age, and there are some of the oldest burial grounds in the world located here. One such grave I pass dates back to 3500 BC. The churches here are also ancient, looking like Viking relics with grand, obtuse white towers, some dating back to the 13th century.

The Queen Alexandrine Bridge connects the island to Zealand and the winds are ruthless. Workman sit in scaffolding on the bridge, priming and re-welding its old joints. How people work in such calmness, in such conditions I don’t understand. The Kalvehave Church dominates the landscape. Sitting in a field of barley, the towering ivory 13th century building could fit into the set of a movie. The road takes an uphill turn into the countryside to Praesto, an old fishing town where I grab some lunch. Finding my way into one the few cafés around, I start to talk to the owner. The café doubles up as a BnB for bikers that are making the same route. As an officially listed dwelling for people like me, the owners tells he’s always fully booked up for the entirety of the cycling season. I however am one of the first ones this year he’s seen, with the majority of people doing the route between July and August.

From here, I decide to take another route again, to bring me away from the coastline. Just before Faxe Ladeplads, I take a left and cycle a northern route through the island’s heartland, relying solely on my maps and iPhone. Through country-lanes and farmlands. Acres and acres of just sprawling fields, horses and ancient, Nordic cottages. It’s like Game of Thrones, but with more wind. The further north I go, the less arable it becomes, where eventually one town merges into the next the closer I get to Copenhagen. As it gets towards 8pm a stranger gives me the finger from a nearside bar. I wonder if he sits here year round, flipping off every single cyclist from Berlin. I realize it’s time to capitulate and make camp at Hundige Hvan, a beach resort south of the capital. I’m too late to check, so I just rock up and pitch my tent, grab a hot shower and go for a pizza and beer.

Day SixCopenhagenAfter several hundred kilometres, the final stretch was here. Although my ass was sore, I wasn’t actually tired. Just gasping for some more vitamins, and some time to decompress.

Up until this point I had been lucky with the weather. Blue skies, soft-delicate dews and slight warm breezes. This morning it was raining in a way you’d expect it to in the Baltic. I was only 30 kilometres away from Copenhagen, yet this stretch would eventually be the toughest, thanks to the bad weather and poor sign-posting. The road follows parallel to the beach, a popular get-away for those from the city. Approaching the Arken in the city’s suburbs, Copenhagen’s contemporary art museum, the road twists across swampy grass lands through rich Danish suburbs, where mum’s run with their pushchairs, and dapper old gentleman walk along the coastline. The rain came down in droves and the need to be somewhere warm and dry grows.

The route then twists around the edge of the city, teasing you further showing you the end from a distance, as it follows around and under the highway, through a nature-centre and past expensive high-rises that look out across desolate fields towards the sea. The area forms part of Kalvebod, recalimed seabed dating back to the 18th century. The bike route runs past shopping centres, through parks and past youth centres. Finally entering the city centre the ridiculousness of it all starts to seep in. I haven’t washed since I started and I’m wearing the same clothes I wore in Day1. My tent and sleeping bags are fixed to the sides of my bike, taped together and dragging along the side due to one of the fixings breaking on the second day. I feel like a vagabund, without a house, dirty in the land of clean, and beautiful people – all busying around between jobs. Crossing the Langebro bridge eeking towards the end of my journey, the stunning Royal Library sits to my right. It’s a beuatiful and majestic city, and people here love their bikes. It’s difficult to know where the EuroVelo ends or begins, lacking fanfare or banners. I stop outside the City Hall and ask a tour guide to take my photo. I want more attention. Someone to buy me a beer. I almost expect there to be more cyclists there, patting each other on the back in self-congratulary stances. But no, nothing.

I follow the route a bit further to the train station, which is listed as the start point for those heading in the other direction. I grab a coffee and a sandwich and start to plan my trip back – I’m done and hanging around the Danish capital doesn’t appeal to me. The journey far outweighs the destination. I can’t help but feel that I want to keep on going on. I find it hard to just stop and be. This is one of my real struggles in life, and at no point does it resonate more that when I’m Copenhagen booking my train back to Berlin. Which is a shame, as Copenhagen is full of amazing, friendly people, lots of museums and great architecture. Throughout the city there are amazing bars, coffee shops, and book stores. I pop into a cornershop to buy a beer, and notice they have a comic rack and stacks of independanlty published magazines. If this was in Berlin, I would be in here all the time, drinking overpriced beer, flicking through magazines that I would have no intention of buying. There’s a certain sence of irony, as many people tell me Copenhageners admire Berliners, wanting to emulate the independent, grassroots culture. Somehow they’ve sculpted something more engaging and fun - a youth spirit that is very much their own.

I spend the afternoon chilling out in Rosenborg Garden, now reading Ulysses. The sun is out and the city looks the best place in the world. Couples lie around in the grass, as kids play games and tourists wander between the royal buildings. It’s the perfect weather to sit back and have a beer, wandering into a bar I reluctantly cough up the EUR 10,- it costs for an amazing, cold drink. The restaurants look amazing and everyone is out on the street, post-work banter. Saving my money, I go to a cheap, Indian take-out (surprisingly really good) and grab another street beer. You get the feeling that there is nothing the Danish can’t do.

I can’t shake the feeling that I want to get back on the bike and go on further. There’s nothing that wouldn’t stop me going to Helsinborg and up to the Arctic Circle. It makes you question the purpose of living. Getting up every day and going to work, just to earn money to buy things. I could happily live on my bike. Spend around EUR 20,- per day living in my tent. Getting on the bike for five or so days leaves me with more questions than it does answers. The journey had been blissful and extremely meditative, focusing on getting from one place to the other. Thinking about where I’m going to get the next meal from and where I can pitch my tent. But at the end it leaves me asking for more and I’m very reluctant to go back home to hustle for work and further myself in the day-to-day rituals of existence. Life is but a self-constructed Panopticon. But is it realistic to think that a life on the road is possible. Shirking responsibilities, commitments and running away from relationships. Even Kerouac had his Moriarty. This won’t be the last time I take on such a trek, but sometimes a journey requires a partner. As does most things.

What I Listened To:This might seem a bit weird for someone who listens to mainly jazz at home and works in the electronic music scene, but when I’m cycling, I often have a lot of hardcore and metal in my headphones. It’s that aggression and energy which really gives me an extra kick – a sort of emotive-addrenaline boost. If you see my cycling around Berlin with my earbuds in (I know, it’s not clever), I am most likely listening to something very loud and abrasive. So on occasion, when I started to tire and feel weary, I would turn my phone on and play some Converge or At The Drive In – something that would drag me onto to wherever I needed it to. Here is a playlist of some my most listened-to tracks.